


Reversing the Polarity

by radiantbaby



Series: My Martha/Ten 'doctorwho_100' Fics [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s03e06 The Lazarus Experiment, F/M, doctorwho_100
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1571324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiantbaby/pseuds/radiantbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had assaulted him unawares, swirling around him and insinuating itself into every deep breath he took while before her  her scent, her wonderful, beautiful, human scent -- and in the end, it would be his undoing.  [Ten/Martha]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reversing the Polarity

**Author's Note:**

> [This is an older fic from November 2008, but I'm working on posting all my fics here on AO3]
> 
> Written for the prompt: "036. Smell" for the LJ community **doctorwho_100** [My table can be found [here](http://cantadora.livejournal.com/15089.html#cutid1)]

It assaults him unawares, swirling around him and insinuating itself into every deep breath he takes while before her — her scent, her wonderful, beautiful, _human_ scent.

“Nice shoes, by the way.”

With hands full of wires and a mouth full of words, he tries to distract himself from getting caught up in the sheer enchanting spell of it. He’s always been exquisitely drawn to olfactory delights, especially in this regeneration, as much as he’s been drawn to tactile ones. Call it a strength, call it a weakness.

Still, he doesn’t need this, not at all, not _now_ \-- or ever really, not with _her_ , he _can’t_ with her, he can’t _let_ himself —

It’s already bad enough for him that the soft skin of her calves lingers so tantalizingly close that nearly all he wants to do is to move toward her and slowly drag his tongue along the muscle there, following the taut sinews beneath her skin upward and upward, over her knee, along her inner thigh, upward and upward, until —

“Doctor, what’s happening?”

 _Task at hand, must focus at the task at hand,_ he chastises himself as the squeal of the machine comes to life around them, spinning furiously.

He frantically works to reverse the polarity of the machine’s energy output, trying desperately to set the capsule to reflect energy rather than receive it. _This should be easier, I should be faster,_ he thinks in annoyance, but her scent distracts him deliciously yet again, slowing him as he finds himself wanting (needing) to get lost in it instead. Get lost in _all of her_ —

“When he transforms, he’s three times his size -- cellular triplication -- so he’s spreading himself thin,” he yells, even startling himself a bit as he tries desperately to restrain his thoughts, his desires. She’s panicked now and he needs to get them out of this. He can do this. He’s done this thousands upon thousands of times before. “Just one more!”

The energy suddenly shifts powerfully outward, saving them. As they open the capsule, he hopes that perhaps now he can use the distraction of no longer being so close to her to his advantage, moving her delicately back into her usual (safe) position of arm’s length.

They slowly step out to survey what has happened beyond the capsule and he, as always, slips his mask in place.

\+ + +

“You were never really just a passenger,” he says just after she’d joyously leapt into his arms, leaving remnants of her scent to weave themselves into the very fibers of his suit, marking him.

He wants to pull it off, pull the unlucky fabric from his old and tired bones, to escape from it (with his last shred of defiance of his desires), but she is suddenly there before him doing it for him instead, seemingly galvanized by his words, and, this time, he is letting her. He finds himself trembling as her fingertips brush over his clothes and tentatively pull at buttons and zippers, releasing him, releasing him from it all. _Finally._

Nude before her, he quickly sinks to his knees, ignoring the rough press of the floor’s metal grating leaving hard grooves in the skin there. He slides his fingertips upward along her calves, doing just as he imagined earlier, inhaling her scent deeply as he moves the hem of her dress up to her hips, leaving small kisses along her thighs and legs as he goes.

He finally shifts to drag his tongue along the satin of her knickers, slightly dampened already from her arousal. The scent of her is drawing him in completely now, overwhelming him with the need to taste her and to bury his nose there, to breath her in deeply, to _know her_ deeply —

He rips away the fabric there, exposing her flesh to his ravenous exploration and she succumbs to him, just as he succumbs to his needs.

Soon he’s on his back, the familiar press of the grating against his skin the only thing that is familiar between them as Martha moves above him, marking him even more with her unique scent. Each deep breath he takes is _her and him and her and him_ — scents twining around each other and becoming one in the air surrounding them.

Words of affection drop from her lips, covering him in the droplets of their sweetness, but — perhaps uncharacteristically — none fall from his own in response. He feels his body is telling her far too much already and, for a moment, he wonders if she even understands the depth of what it is communicating to her (though in many ways he hopes she does not).

“Just one trip,” he’d said, “just one trip and back home.” He’d said that to avoid her, to avoid _this,_ but now it is far too late.

It had assaulted him unawares, swirling around him and insinuating itself into every deep breath he took while before her — her scent, her wonderful, beautiful, _human_ scent — and in the end, it would be his undoing.


End file.
